


better when it feels wrong

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Pining, slight voyeurism but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 12:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21270806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Just, like… take him out on a date. You don’t have to sleep with him or anything, just a date or two or whatever. I just wanna see if it helps. Because it just sort of seems like he’s lonely and that’s what he’s always telling me, so… Y’know, what if it works and he’s not such a fucking dick all the time, right?”“Yes. Sounds easy.”-In short, Nines takes one for the team to improve Gavin's mood. He just didn't think he'd actually enjoy it.





	better when it feels wrong

**Author's Note:**

> i hate david cage and his awful robot game. i feel like i got possessed by a demon that forced me to write this. title is lifted from wrong by max, an absolute banger that i highly recommend!

Detective Reed is, to borrow a term most often used by humans, an _ asshole_. 

RK900, however, has taken to calming him down as he does to most other things. That is to say _ expertly _ of course. He’s long since picked apart and analyzed a thousand times over precisely what sets Detective Reed off and what cheers him back up again. They’re small tasks, easily incorporated into RK900’s routine behaviour and activities, and yet they seem to make a considerable difference.

“I don’t know how you fucking manage it.” Tina mutters mostly into a pathetic cup of stale coffee as they both watch Reed move like a storm cloud through the bullpen, bringing down the mood of everyone in the room with him. RK900 hums. 

“To what are you referring?”

A scoff from Tina. He already knows what she’s going to say, he just likes to play stupid. It makes <strike>Gavin</strike> humans feel a little better about themselves. 

“Making Reed _ not _ a prick. Or, like, standing him at all for longer than five minutes. Hell, I love him as much as anybody in here, but _ Jesus _ do I hate him sometimes.”

RK900 catches one corner of his mouth raising in a cheap imitation of a pleased smile. 

“It really isn’t as difficult as you might think.” 

Most often, simply sticking a cigarette between Detective Reed’s lips and lighting it for him does the trick, although there’s restrictions on when and where that one can be applied. Other times, RK900 brings him a fresh coffee from a cafe down the street before he even mentions wanting one, just to give him a break from the shit in the station break room. He hovers near Reed’s desk while he texts with his filthy boots kicked up, intimidating uniforms away so Reed doesn’t have to sit up straight and pretend to work for a few seconds. 

For an instant, he feels a little whipped. Used for thankless emotional labour for Detective Reed’s happiness. However, a notification pops into his field of view reminding him of his **HELPFULNESS** and that **RK900 LACKS EMOTIONS**. 

A reminder he still finds comforting. It soothes a feeling of instability humming at the back of his skull. 

“_Uh-huh. _ Well, we don’t all get top of the line software for hostage negotiation or whatever. The rest of us just have to get by on buying him a drink every once in a while.” Tina snorts out a little laugh into her coffee, giving RK900 another reason to offer up a small smile. “Surprised you haven’t just screwed all the angry out of him, Nines. Bet he’d _ gladly _ agree to that one.”

RK900 opens his mouth and almost corrects her on his name, but the full intent of what she’d just told him finally registers. 

“Excuse me?”

Tina seems surprised. He wonders if his tone came across as angrier than intended. He and Detective Reed seem to have that bad habit in common, at least.

“Really? Not even once? C’mon, you gotta see the looks.” A pause. RK900 blinks at her, and she thankfully seems to understand whatever expression is currently on his face as _ confused _. “Not even a date? Jesus, Nines, throw the poor guy a bone. I bet he’s fucking parched.”

“What exactly are you implying?” 

Now it’s Tina’s turn to look concerned. Worried that she’d struck a chord or overstepped some boundary she hadn’t noticed. They _ are _ colleagues at work, of course.

“Well, no, nothing! Whatever you’re doing is working out fine then, I guess, you can forget I said anything.” RK900 quirks an eyebrow and Tina’s instinctive urge to meddle in Detective Reed’s life gets the better of her. “Okay, look, I’ll tell you, but don’t you _ dare _ tell Gavin, alright? He told me in confidence and if he finds out then he’ll probably never trust me again, but it’s just…”

She sighs and takes a deep breath. RK900 can hardly imagine what about this conversation is worth getting so anxious over.

“Look, do you want to help me with a little pet project I’ve been thinking about? I’d just do it myself, but me and Gavin aren’t exactly -” Pause. “- _ each other’s type _ . I just… know he could use a little pick-me-up once in a while, and I _ know _ that he’s into you so… wanna test something out?”

RK900 is still replaying an audio clip of _ ‘I know that he’s into you’ _ on loop in the back of his thoughts while Tina waits expectantly for an answer. Distantly, he realizes he’s staring daggers at the back of Detective Reed’s head while he thinks, but he doesn’t bother to tear his gaze away. He nods. 

“Great! Okay, good, that’s great, I’m sure it’ll be easy. Just, like… take him out on a date. You don’t have to sleep with him or anything, just a date or two or whatever. I just wanna see if it helps. Because it just sort of seems like he’s lonely and that’s what he’s always telling me, so… Y’know, what if it works and he’s not such a fucking dick all the time, right?” 

She laughs, and RK900 can pick the awkwardness out of her voice alone without even needing to look in her direction. But she might have a point. RK900’s small gestures of kindness raise Detective Reed’s spirits for a few hours, perhaps a day if they’re lucky and their shifts go smoothly. But if Tina’s theory is correct, RK900 could bite the bullet and improve the lives of quite literally everyone in the bullpen, let alone the _ precinct. _

“Yes. Sounds easy.”

* * *

“Are you busy this evening, Detective Reed?”

RK900 speaks without looking away from the monitor on his desk, his fingertips keeping up their steady rhythm on his keyboard. Still, he can see Reed look up at him warily. 

“Why?”

Somewhere, somehow, a line of code in the depths of his software very narrowly prevents RK900 from rolling his eyes at his partner. For a man so reckless with his own health and safety, Detective Reed sure knew how to be paranoid, especially when it came to androids.

_ ‘I know he’s into you.’ _ plays once more in RK900’s ears. 

“I was considering inviting you to a concert tonight, if that sounds like a better use of your time than getting drunk and passing out on your couch.” Reed lacks that specific programming that prevents someone from rolling their eyes sarcastically. A fact that RK900 learned on his first day and has kept in mind ever since, in fact. Yet he still manages to look concerned at RK900’s offer. 

Detective Reed opens his mouth (no doubt to insult RK900 in kind) and no matter how much he might enjoy a brief argument with his partner

“Officer Chen mentioned that you might enjoy it. I agree that it may lift your spirits.”

And of course, instead of simply smiling politely and accepting the offer, Reed leans back in his chair once more and turns his attention back to the phone in his palm, sounding irritated.

“Who the hell says my spirits need any lifting? I’m a ray of damn sunshine, you know. Mind your fucking business if you two don’t like it.” 

Oh. He hadn’t expected that. RK900 begins to consider the ramifications of this defeat, the effects it might have on his relationship with Reed. They had been getting along decently well as of late, since RK900 began to analyze his behaviour and attitude and the subtle positive changes he could make with the right nudges. However, Reed’s tone and general reactions to situations like these could suggest _ several _ steps backwards from that, requiring even more effort on RK900’s part to -

“Yeah, sure, whatever. But tickets, drinks, and parking are all on you.”

_ Oh. _ Even more unexpected still. RK900 opens his mouth to reply, but Reed interrupts him with an exasperated sigh.

“Christ, don’t give me the third degree about it, you just looked so _ sad, _ okay? How the hell am I supposed to turn you down when you fucking puppy-dog me like that?” 

Interesting. RK900 resumes typing once more, realizing only now that he’d stopped, a tiny grin spreading on his features. 

“A trick I must have picked up from Connor.” 

That gets a laugh - a _ snort _ \- from Reed, and the tension between them is soothed. Another in the list of many tactics up RK900’s sleeve for changing Reed’s attitude: making fun of someone else. Especially another android. 

* * *

Tina had recommended no concert at all, in truth. A tiny lie to cover up for the fact that it had taken RK900 only seconds to find and purchase tickets for the sort of concert that Reed seemed like the type to enjoy. The type in a _ literal _ underground bar, at the bottom of a narrow wooden staircase with no real bouncer, but instead some scrawny guy asking for a _ ‘$5 donation’ _ to keep putting up bands like this. 

It’s dark and loud and _ all _ of RK900’s senses are overloaded trying to process everything while waiting at the bottom of said staircase for Reed to show up. 

There’s brief flashes of doubt in the back of his artificial brain. Perhaps Reed wouldn’t show up after all, or he’d hate the band or the venue or _ something, _ just find anything in the world to complain about, or he’d just show up for the free drinks and make RK900 drive him home because he couldn’t take his bike like that, and they’d never talk about the evening again. Worse still, he’d be in an even shittier mood the next morning due to an almost _ definite _ hangover.

RK900 isn’t sure what would be worse: Reed’s terrible attitude when hungover and tired, or Tina’s inevitable wrath when he’d not only failed, but made things even worse.

“Hey! Tin Man!” Reed - _ Gavin’s_, they’re off-duty - voice and clap on his shoulder snaps RK900 back to the reality he hadn’t noticed he’d drifted off from. His eyes flick from a notification (**BUY GAVIN A DRINK**) to his partner in time to notice the brief yet thorough full-body sweep his gaze does. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the jacket. Looks weird.”

He pinches at the high collar of the black turtleneck RK900 currently wears. It certainly doesn’t allow him to blend in well with the crowd, not like Gavin does in that leather jacket, but it was the most RK900 could bring himself to stray from his uniform before the stupid pinging of the notifications telling him to change back into it got on his nerves. 

Pale eyes watch as Gavin’s hand and gaze linger just a heartbeat too long on the junction where the dark fabric meets RK900’s jawline. _ ‘I know he’s into you’. _

Maybe Tina had been more perceptive than RK900 after all. 

**BUY GAVIN A DRINK.** RK900 wishes he could change that awful notification noise.

“I already paid our admission. Come with me.”

Already, Gavin seems more cheerful, and RK900 tunes his auditory processors to listen to him more carefully over the crowds and music - “Well, aren’t you a generous date.”

_ Date. _ Somehow, the word surprises him, but RK900 can hardly bring it up and ask if that’s what Gavin wants this night to be, because he suspects his partner neither expected nor wanted him to hear it. That’s technically what he agreed to when he took up Tina’s offer to ‘cheer Gavin up’, as it were - but maybe he hadn’t expected Gavin to take to the idea so quickly. He has always, after all, seemed to harbour a certain dislike for RK900, although that wasn’t too different to what he seemed to feel towards any and all androids. 

**DATE.** The more RK900 thinks about it as he orders Gavin a drink, the more amenable the idea becomes. Dates are easy. Structured. Enjoy the concert, buy Gavin alcohol, pay for parking, drive Gavin back home, ask to do this again. 

Easy. Gavin will be happy, Tina will be happy, the bullpen will be happy. A simple evening that will result in valuable results for their little experiment. 

* * *

It’s not easy. 

**KISS GAVIN.**

A couple hours and more than twice as many shots have passed. The crowd is livelier now than it had been earlier in the evening, with more people showing up as the minutes tick by and grating songs drone on. Gavin - like just about everyone else in the building - is drunk. Or at least _ tipsy _ , as RK900 can discern by scanning his blood alcohol level after every drink, but maybe a good mood from an enjoyable evening has him playing up the performance a bit. RK900 knows better than anyone by now precisely how Gavin behaves when drunk, and while _ not disagreeable, _ this is out of the ordinary. 

The club is more than busy enough to keep eyes off them under probably even the absolute worst of circumstances. But they’ve gravitated towards the back of the room, agreeing without having to say it that they’re both not the type for whatever passes for _ dancing _ closer to the stage. It’s a little quieter, if only by a few decibels, but people back here are minding their own business as much as the next person. 

That is to say, no one so much as raises an eyebrow (let alone even looks in their direction) when Gavin hooks one finger in the fabric of RK900’s turtleneck to expose his neck. And no one cares enough to judge when RK900 ever so slightly tips his head away, giving his partner a better look. 

“I mean, _ fuck_, Nines, are you trying to fucking kill someone? You trying to stab me with that jawline? Jesus _ fucking _Christ.”

**KISS GAVIN.**

RK900 only hears it because he’s so listening so intently to Gavin in particular, hanging off every breath, every little murmured word that he thinks the android will never hear. He’s totally tuned out the music blasting around them. Hell, he’d think the band stopped entirely, were it not for the bass shaking the room around them. It’s the only thing that stops him from replying, reminding him that Gavin wouldn’t hear him anyway.

Even if he could, RK900 would likely decide against it, because Gavin is rocking forward on the balls of his feet to press open mouthed kisses to his jaw and throat. 

He’s not religious. He never will be. But for a single, infinitesimal little instant, RK900 thinks he should be thanking God. 

**KISS GAVIN. **

His lips and tongue are softer than RK900 might have expected from the man. Maybe he’s biased; influenced by his mental image of Gavin Reed, someone sharp and deadly at the edges, volatile and dangerous. It calls to mind the scent of gunpowder or the sort of fear someone might feel seeing a pipe bomb. 

**KISS GAVIN.**

It draws RK900 in like a lamb for the slaughter. There’s teeth now, biting down at the junction of his neck and shoulder, and he sees nothing but grey-white static. The notifications pinging in the corners of his vision are pissing him off. 

**OBJECTIVE COMPLETE.**

There’s always a bizarre sense of satisfaction to be felt when a notification vanishes from his vision like a task ticked off from a to-do list. Cyberlife’s intention with such a design was without a doubt to help keep its androids in line, behaving as their programming instructed, and RK900 supposes he’s breaking no rules in following their orders. 

There’s no deviancy in doing as he’s told. 

However, RK900 feels as though he may be cheating the system. In a heartbeat he’s reversed their positions, all his strength and dexterity making it as easy as swatting away a fly to grab Gavin by the wrists and spin him until his back is against the concrete wall. Their lips meet - _ hard _ \- but it’s teeth and tongue in equal measure, Gavin fighting back because of course he _ has _ to, he’s not having fun if he’s not losing at something while pretending it’s a fair fight. 

Except there’s nothing at all fair about the way RK900 holds both wrists in one palm with so much ease one might think he does this every other night - that he makes a very regular habit of pinning men to walls in shitty bars and kissing them until their bottom lip splits and the both of them can taste copper. 

He doesn’t. Beginner’s luck, as some might call it. 

Gavin seems to enjoy it regardless, gasping for air between desperate, messy, heated kisses and the curses he spits at RK900 and rolling his hips forward. Anyone else might be offended by the colourful language he chooses. However, distantly, RK900 is realizing that something _ must _ be faulty in his programming, because each word makes him hungrier. It makes him want to throw a punch with his free hand. Something tells him Gavin would enjoy that, however, and some petty little part of him holds back. 

No, instead he reaches down to squeeze Gavin’s thigh, relishing in the groan in draws from the man’s throat. Which, RK900 is realizing now, has gone entirely neglected. He pulls away sharply from their kisses to take in the sight of it. 

Of course, Gavin as a whole looks _ incredible _, wrists above his head and shoulders pressed back against the concrete to offer his hips leverage to rut against RK900. His back is going to hurt in the morning. Hell, his shoulders might even wind up bruised from the force with which he sometimes throws himself back; a fact which RK900 finds himself unexpectedly pleased with. 

He surges forward once more with confidence when a low whine escapes the back of Gavin’s throat. It’s gorgeous, irresistible, notifications cloud RK900’s vision even when his eyes are closed because he’s fucking _ obsessed, _ truly, and to think only hours ago he wondered if this was a date at all. 

**BRUISE GAVIN.**

The last thing he would ever want to do is hurt Gavin against his will. But he’s enjoying this, clearly, RK900 can already feel the mottled blue mark left beneath the collar of his own black sweater, and Gavin’s hips stutter and his voice cracks when RK900 so much as scrapes his teeth across warm, flushed skin.

When he bites down, even _ gently, _ he makes a noise RK900 suspects will turn into a scream that anyone else in the room could hear, and pries his hand away from its place squeezing fingerprints into Gavin’s thigh to cover his mouth. 

**FUCK GAVIN.**

“Fuck, Nines, _ get me out of here _ . Seriously, you’re going to fucking _ kill me _ .” Gavin has to twist his head away to get the words out once RK900 is finished leaving _ several _ marks scattered on the expanse of his neck. He can’t help but analyze the cologne he’s tasting on his tongue while Gavin pretends to be having a terrible time. He’s finally testing the android’s grip on his wrists, squirming against every inch of RK900 that’s currently pressing him up against the cold concrete.

“I mean it. Get us a cab. Your place, I haven’t cleaned up.”

“I don’t have an apartment.”

“_Fine_, fuck, but one fucking word out of you about the laundry or whatever and I swear to God I’ll beat your ass so fucking hard -”

“That isn’t what you want me to do to you?”

“Nines, I _ swear - _”

RK900 is still repressing a grin as he dives in to kiss Gavin again, releasing his wrists to tangle both hands in his unkempt hair. He feigns more resistance - but RK900 doesn’t doubt he could shove the android off him in a heartbeat if that were really what he wanted. That, or he’d actually be protesting, instead of putting his mouth to better use in kissing back with as much fire as he gets. 

“Nines, people are staring at us, we should get the hell -”

Gavin manages to croak those words out breathlessly and RK900 hesitates for only enough time to glance around them. 

He’s correct, _ barely. _ No one is _ staring _ at them, because they’re probably used to witnessing things like this, but other stragglers towards the back of the club look, intrigued and amused, in their direction every once in a while, and that alone is more attention than Gavin wants. Or RK900, for that matter. It isn’t as though his model is all that common - someone could recognize his designation and realize just how fucking far he’s gone off the rails. 

But not really. RK900 is in control, he reminds himself, he’s following precisely what his programming instructs. 

**TOUCH GAVIN. FUCK GAVIN. MAKE HIM SCREAM.**

The ever-distracting pinging of notifications rings in his ears as he takes Gavin’s hands and leads - _ drags _\- him back towards the staircase leading up to street level. He’s already ordered them a taxi, he realizes as they stumble outside into the crisp evening air, he must have forgotten while he was otherwise occupied with following orders. 

_ REED _ flashes on a display in the window. It’s theirs after all, something RK900 is thankful for, as Gavin has already opened the back door and is dragging the android in after him.

“ETA 11 minutes.”

RK900 almost doesn’t recognize his own voice for how deadpan and robotic it sounds, pardon the irony. It escapes his throat without his lips and tongue having to shape the sounds as they leave his mouth - thank Cyberlife, as he’s currently occupied pushing aside Gavin’s jacket and t-shirt to lap open-mouthed kisses and scrape his teeth along his collarbone. 

“Fuck, Nines, do you -”

“Why don’t you call me by my designation?” Calls his voice again, sounding strangely disembodied as he doesn’t want to pull away from the bruises he’s leaving with his lips and tongue or push away the hands that are currently threading through his hair.

“_Why? _ RK900? It’s kind of a mouthful. And not the fun kind.” Gavin laughs, breathlessly, tossing his head back, but it trails off into a half-moan when RK900 sinks his teeth in.

“My name, then.”

“Doesn’t suit you.”

He raises an eyebrow. Gavin pulls him back by his hair to look him in the eye. Or to answer properly, since the more RK900 bites him, the more heady and breathless his voice sounds. 

“_Niles _ is only one letter away.”

“S’not the same. Doesn’t suit you.”

RK900 wrenches free of Gavin’s hold, ignoring the mixed emotions painted over his handsome face. He slips from beside the detective, instantly missing the feeling of their thighs pressed together, but settles on the floor between Gavin’s knees instead.

“You only think so because you gave me that nickname first and it stuck.”

He laughs again, but it cracks when RK900 makes quick work of his button and fly. 

“Maybe.”

“Does it please you to have chosen my name?”

“What? No, I’m not into that… weird freaky _ owning _ thing.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

“I’m not like that.”

Their eyes lock in the second before RK900 hooks his fingers in the waistband of Gavin’s torn jeans to pull them down. He believes him. However, it’s not some cheap, annoying anecdote that humans enjoy that convinces him, RK900 would simply sooner believe that Gavin takes more joy in the opposite scenario. 

How he squirmed when RK900 pinned his wrists comes to mind. The choke in the back of his throat when RK900 barks orders at him or grabs a fistful of his shirt in one hand and yanks him forward. 

How he throws his head back now and cries, openly, when RK900 strokes his cock in one hand and holds his hips down with the other to keep him from fucking up into his grip. 

“No. You’re not, are you.”

Phrased like a question but lacking the intonation. It isn’t one, after all, RK900 has known the answer for a _ while _ now. Distantly, he hears the beginning of an argument die on Gavin’s lips the instant he rolls his thumb in circles around the head of his dick.

“Fuck, Nines, I never thought -”

**MAKE GAVIN SCREAM.**

He cuts himself off again with a strangled noise as RK900 leans in to replace his hand with his mouth, repeating all the same motions with his tongue instead. 

“_Fu-u-uckkk, _ don’t know why we never did this sooner, _ Christ, _ why didn’t you fucking just ask me out _ months _ ago -”

**OBJECTIVE COMPLETE.**

RK900 allows himself a smug feeling of self-satisfaction when Gavin’s dick hits the back of his throat with every bob of his head. He’s pulling at his hair _ hard _ with one hand while the other grips the leather seat fiercely, his back arching when he tries to roll his hips but finds them still pinned easily by the android between his knees. 

“_Jesus, _ fuck you, need _ more_, fucking _ hate you _ -”

“I thought you preferred to call me Nines.”

Gavin tosses his head back once more to laugh-groan, the hand that was previously gripping the seat coming up to cover his eyes instead. 

“A joke? _ Ohh, shit - _ right now? I seriously - _ fuck _ \- can’t fucking stand you.” 

Clearly RK900 is failing if Gavin can think and act coherently enough to form complete sentences, so he doubles down on his efforts. He doesn’t have to breathe or gag like a human, after all, so doing so is easy enough. 

He hollows his cheeks. Keeps Gavin pressed to the back of his throat for seconds at a time. Hums - or at least imitates the vibrations of it - when appropriate. But what drives Gavin over the edge, of course, is a feather-light scrape of perfect teeth over the underside of dick, and for once RK900 allows him to thrust up into his mouth. 

Once, twice, three times; though shallower each time. RK900 swallows, of course - they’re in a taxi, best to avoid the fees associated with making a mess - but lets his jaw hang slack with come staining his lips and tongue when he sits back on his heels and looks up to meet Gavin’s eyes. 

He tastes sweeter than RK900 expected, somehow. It’s intriguing. Something at the back of his skull flutters and fumbles as thought someone’s just made an error typing in lines of programming.

“_Jesus. _”

“Again. I thought you preferred Nines.”

“Oh, shut up.”

RK900 wipes his mouth on the thigh of Gavin’s jeans as he redoes his fly and button for him, and when he’s back sitting beside the detective, brandishes a cigarette and lighter to place between Gavin’s lips and light for him. 

The man laughs; with much less amusement this time than he’s heard throughout the night. It’s to mask something else - something RK900 can hear hints of in his tone. Disappointment, maybe. Shock. 

“The fuck did I ever do to deserve all this, huh?” He takes a long, deep inhale, proceeding to blow smoke in RK900’s general direction. “This whole night. _ You. _ Feels like a fucking nightmare.”

RK900 nods, although he’s not sure why, and turns his gaze to look out the window. He tries to ignore Tina’s request to take Gavin out, ringing in his ears with a sudden oppressing feeling. He tries not to ponder whether this would all be considered a manipulation of Gavin’s feelings. 

_ ‘I know he’s into you.’ _

Androids don’t sleep and certainly don’t dream, but RK900 thinks he understands what Gavin means by _ nightmare. _

**Author's Note:**

> well, i sure hope you enjoyed reading it, and thank you! i aspire to add more to this because i love the mutual pining, lmao. if you'd like to publicly shame me about the robot game you can also find me at johnniescage on tumblr!


End file.
